All That Remains
by SailorJollyRegina
Summary: A young Daryl once got lost in the woods. What will he find when he comes out on the other side? Fic will be lengthy. Begins with young Daryl and progresses to canon with the show. Beth/Daryl Pairing. Rated M for violence, language, and eventual sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

**All That Remains**

**Authors Note: This is my first attempt at a TWD. I have been a fan of this site since I was thirteen and have read so many stories. I feel like I am finally brave enough to post a story of my own. This fic will be sort of AU but will eventually land us in the zombie apocalypse and a Beth/Daryl romance.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

**Chapter One**

"Giddup! Daryl, c'mon!" Merle slapped the sleeping eleven year old on the chest as he yelled.

Daryl woke with a start, eyes instantly alert and his left hand moving to rub the reddening handprint on his chest.

Merle was standing in the doorframe of Daryl's room, craning his neck to see something beyond Daryl's line of sight, a sheen of sweat reflecting off his brow.

"Dad home?" Daryl asked apprehensively, wiping the sleep from his eyes. If it was their dad, he was going to get the hell out and fast, he knew that for sure. The electricity had been cut off yesterday and Will Dixon would have no way to keep his whiskey cold. Of course, Will would not see it as any fault of his own. If Merle hung around, he would take the beating, but not before getting a few blows in himself. They would fight until Will passed out and Merle would be so pissed he would leave. Daryl would then have to tiptoe around the house or stay put to avoid waking the beast and his rage.

"Nah, nah, nah…not him," Merle was at the front door now, peeking out the windows every few seconds like a mad man. "Fuckin' Tony told the cops I was the one who burned down Springer's joint last month. Stupid sumbitch!" He pounded his fist on the window frame in anger.

"Well, ain't ya?" Daryl asked, pulling on a shirt from the foot of his bed.

Merle grinned at this, "Tha's neither here nor there, as they say, baby brother." He took one final look out the window, his breath coming out in a whoosh.

Daryl sighed inwardly. "You on that stuff again," it was more a statement than a question. Daryl knew that meth certainly had not been the cause of Merle's delinquency; it had just made his already fiery temperament that much worse.

Merle shot Daryl a look that would have frightened anyone else, but he was used to them by now. Just as Merle was opening his mouth to send some smart remark back at Daryl, they both stiffened at the sound of crunching gravel outside.

"There they are. I knew 'em pigs'd be here any minute," Merle seemed eerily calm as he spoke, placing his hands on his hips as he looked out the front window at the two police cars that had pulled into the drive.

Peering through the gap in Merle's arm, Daryl watched as two officers exited their vehicles and looked up at the decaying old house. Wincing, Daryl remembered when the police and fire truck had been in the driveway only a few years ago. Approaching the house, the few onlookers who noticed him gave him that look like they knew something he didn't. Watching the flames lick at the windows on the left hand side of the house and the smoke filtering out he knew his mom was gone. Daryl shook his head to stop the memory from flooding his mind. He knew where thinking like that would get him.

"You need ta git ya'self outta here now, Daryl," ordered Merle.

"What'd ya do it for?" Daryl asked angrily. "You just got home six months ago!"

"Don't matter," Merle said shrugging. "It's what I gotta do."

"Is not. That motorcycle club don't want you. I don't know why you keep doing stuff fer 'em," Daryl spat exasperated. Merle was always coming and going. Since Merle was a kid he had been fascinated with the Rebel Angels motorcycle club. He had been trying unsuccessfully to get them to initiate him for years now. Daryl was sure the fire had been another attempt at this.

"Yeah, whadda you know?" Merle glowered at Daryl. "Now git the hell outta here and don't gimme any lip. Go on! Out the back."

"Don't matter if I'm 'ere or not. They don't want me," Daryl cut back at Merle. Truth be told, he'd rather not be in the house at all, but sometimes Daryl just felt like fighting back at Merle.

"Well I don't know if they're gonna wanna poke around here or not an' I don't want 'em asking you no questions. No reason for you ta hafta deal with them. You didn't do nothin'," the last sentence came out roughly as if Merle was trying to hide his true meaning. Daryl had to admit that when Merle _was _actually around, he did protect him from as much as he could. Daryl nodded and Merle clapped him on the shoulder.

"Alright, now. Out the back," he gestured to the backdoor through the dirty kitchen and pushed Daryl slightly in that direction.

The toe of Daryl's right shoe caught a crack in the old wooden floors and he had to reach out for the kitchen counter to catch himself. Righting himself, he chanced a look back at Merle, who had opened the front door and was in the process of walking onto the porch, laughing loudly. You could always count on Merle to laugh in the face of authority.

Daryl jumped down the concrete steps that led from the back door to the yard. He crept around the back side of the house and came to a stop at the edge. Flattening himself against the wooden boards that held the house together, Daryl looked out at the yard and all of the odd and end pieces of junk and scrap that lay there. Sheets of tin roofing, broken pieces of plywood, and his Granddaddy's old farming equipment littered the yard that was in serious need of a mowing. The sound of Merle's raucous laughter brought Daryl back to the gravity of the situation that was unfolding.

Peeking around the corner, he saw that Merle was standing in the driveway now, level with the two policemen. He stretched his empty hands upwards, showing he was unarmed.

"Now, Merle, we don't want no trouble. We've come to take ya in," one mustachioed officer said, obviously experienced in the trouble that this young man could cause.

"I'm doing yer job for ya, officers. See? I ain't armed. I know what yer here for," Merle said in a soft voice, laced with his own brand of poison.

Daryl watched as Merle side stepped the officers and scanned the back yard. Merle was looking for any sign of Daryl while ensuring that they kept their focus on himself.

The sound of an all too familiar vehicle approaching and making the gravel pop made Daryl flinch, eyes darting to Merle, who had finally spotted him. They exchanged a meaningful look. God, this situation was going from bad to worse and Daryl wanted to flee but felt rooted to the ground.

"Goddammit, you Dixon scum just don't know when to quit," the other younger officer scoffed, shaking his head as he jerked Merle's hands behind him to cuff him.

Daryl could feel his body begin to tremble with fear as he watched his father cut the engine of the truck. Hooded hazel eyes with dark circles underneath peered at the situation through the windshield. Pushing the side of the house with his left hand, Daryl had to stop himself from running away as he stood transfixed on Will Dixon's tall muscular frame, not unlike Merle's, exiting the vehicle. His long, dirty blond hair had partially shaken loose from the low ponytail he wore it in. Will took a moment to drain the contents of an unknown canned beverage, most likely beer, in a koozie before tossing it into the truck bed, still sizing up the police.

"The hell's this?" Will slurred, slamming the door to his pickup. "The fuck you doin' here, _Officer Benson_?" he asked mockingly. Will had no patience for anyone, especially cops and he had a specific hatred of Benson, the mustachioed officer. By no luck of the draw, he was the officer that always got called when there were problems at the Dixon house. He had taken nearly every member of the Dixon family to jail on more than one occasion.

"We've come to collect your son, Will. Seems he burned down Mr. Springer's bar over on Callahan," Benson replied.

"Piece o' shit's what he is. Fuck, I don' care what ya do wit' 'im," Will stood as close as he possibly could to Merle when he said this, swaying slightly.

Coldness and hate was evident in Merle's expression even from where Daryl stood several yards away. Quickly glancing at Daryl, Merle jerked his head to the right, signaling him to leave just before he looked Will directly in the eyes and head-butted him with all his might.

Will staggered backwards before hurling himself towards the handcuffed Merle, who impressively stood his ground. He laughed and Daryl couldn't tell whose blood was on his face.

Daryl took the opportunity to make a run for the woods behind the house. Everyone was surely too preoccupied to notice him now. He stopped just as he reached the tree line and continued to watch the scuffle from behind a tree.

"I oughtta kill you," roared Will as he began to pummel Merle against the back of the police car.

Officer Benson seemed to sigh inwardly before breaking the father and son apart.

"Don't make it worse, Will!" he said, shoving the drunken man back towards the house. "You want us to take you in too?"

Will was red in the face and breathing hard, but seemed to understand that he was on dangerous ground with the law. He huffed loudly, running his bloodied hand through the stubble on his chin and walked up the wooden steps that led to the porch.

"Don't I have someplace ta be, officer?" Merle asked, the fight in him never diminished. "We done wastin' time here?"

"Yeah, Merle," Benson said tiredly as he put Merle in the back of his car.

The front screen door popped as it swung shut and Daryl heard his father yelling for him.

"Boy! Where you get to?"

Daryl took that as his cue to leave. He would put as much distance between himself and the house as he possibly could. Daryl did not want to be the one who took the punishment for wounding his dad's pride, not today.

* * *

Too many times to count, Daryl had taken this path through the woods to escape his father. What was once a very faint trail was now a well-worn path darting in and out of the trees. The woods provided Daryl with something that was otherwise absent in his life: peace. He felt that here, among the trees and the occasional deer or squirrel, he could relax.

When he was younger, school had been a place of escape and peace as well. However, Daryl had quickly learned that abuse could and would more than likely follow you anywhere as he was teased relentlessly. He was teased because of his clothes, because he was poor, and because the other students' parents evidently told them who he was and not to associate themselves with redneck trash like Daryl Dixon. A few students had even gone so far as to tease him about his mother's death and the circumstances that surrounded it. True, she would have won no awards for best mother, but it still stung. Cruelty was something that Daryl had experienced from almost everyone he had ever known.

Merle was the only one who ever really cared for Daryl. Sure, Daryl thought, Merle could be cruel in his own way at times, but he was also the only one to step up and protect him from anything. Well, almost anything. Daryl knew without a doubt that Merle had taken the beatings from their father well before Daryl was even thought of. What he wasn't sure of was if Merle knew he wasn't the only one to receive them. Whenever Merle wasn't around to be a punching bag of relief for Will Dixon's problems, Daryl was the substitute.

Daryl felt the sting of tears in his eyes. Angry, he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to give himself a new pain to focus on. There was no time to feel sorry for himself. This was life and the way it would always be, he just had to grow up and accept that. He guessed that that was the kind of attitude that Merle had always tried to instill in him. That and other beliefs that Daryl wasn't so sure were the best, but what choice did he have? The situation usually went, "Merle's way or no way at all."

"Ain't nobody ever gonna care 'bout you but me, baby brother," Merle's words resonated within him always. He was right. As messed up as that sentence was, Daryl knew that he was right.

So he had done what Merle had told him to and escaped the house before he could be found by either the cops or their father. And what was he supposed to do now? Go back? No way.

Looking around at his surroundings, Daryl realized he had strayed from the familiar path he usually took through the woods. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he had walked himself very deep into the forest, much farther than he normally would venture. The path he had so often frequented led in a sort of semi-circle through the trees, with only a few small hills and dips in the land. Wherever he was now seemed different. The air smelled damp and he could swear he heard the sound of running water.

Following the sound of water, Daryl was soon standing before a small creek complete with its own tiny waterfall. He quickly thought to himself that it was a pretty sight before another internal voice told him that he was a pussy for even thinking that.

Hands on his hips, Daryl took in the scene. He was lost, he knew that for sure. But finding his way back to the house was not something he was ready to do. At least here in the woods he was alone and relatively safe. Digging in his pants pocket, he dug out his bone handled pocket knife that Merle had bet him to steal from the bait and tackle shop in town. Merle was always pushing him like that, claiming that it would make a man out of him. At least he knew how to defend himself with his knife in the event someone came across him out here.

Another plus, Daryl thought as he settled himself on a large rock beside the creek, was that now he had access to fresh water. Looked like he had found a new home, at least for a little while.

**Hope you enjoyed it! A big thank you to my beta Carrot Top! I plan on making this a pretty long story with lots of character devolopment. I can't wait to get to the Bethyl bits but it may be a while. Bear with me, it'll be worth it I swear!**


	2. Chapter 2

**All That Remains**

**I am so, so sorry for the ridiculously long time that it took me to get this chapter up. I've been sick, my kids have been sick, and then there was Christmas. Thanks to everyone for the follows, favorites, and reviews. I love to know what you guys think about this story. Well, here it is.**

**Chapter Two**

A painfully rumbling stomach woke Daryl on his third day away from home. Crawling out from under the bank of the creek, he had to shield his eyes from the sunlight reflecting on the water. From the sun's location in the sky, Daryl guessed it was about ten o'clock and wondered how it was that he had slept in so late, especially since he had been sleeping on rocks and dirt. His stomach growled again, forcing him to remember what had roused him in the first place.

Since setting up "camp", if a small fire could be called that, all the food Daryl had managed to find was a cluster of mushrooms that he considered safe enough to eat. They had tasted horrible, but he had to eat and the creek was too small to house any fish. While he had watched several squirrels that would have made a fine meal scurry up and down the trees, he couldn't exactly run after them with a pocket knife.

Daryl had spent the better part of the previous day searching the immediate area around the creek for anything to help make his little setup more comfortable or practical. All he had turned up were some old glass Coca Cola bottles and a couple rusted out cans. Someone else had called this creek bed home once upon a time. If he weren't so determined to stay away from home, Daryl would have felt discouraged. He had wanted this place to be somewhere that he could call home for a little while or maybe somewhere he could run to when things got bad at home. But if water was the only resource available, there wouldn't be much to sustain him here. A feeling of desperation began to creep into his belly along with the intense hunger that was already there.

Daryl stood stock still for a moment, scanning his surroundings for food or just anything that might make the creek a good place for him to stay. The creek gurgled along its little path into the as yet unknown part of the forest. The bright green leaves of the trees swayed lightly with the late September breeze. A catbird on the tree branch to his right called, bobbing its head up and down.

Suddenly, and to his relief, he heard the unmistakable croak of a frog. Why hadn't he thought of frogs yesterday? They were easy enough to catch and he could even cook them over his fire.

Fishing his knife out of his pocket, he pulled it open and followed the croaking sounds until he spotted not one, but two medium sized frogs sitting on a rock. With one swift motion, Daryl's pocket knife had stabbed the closest frog, pinning it to the rock where it sat. Realizing the danger, the other frog hopped away. Not wanting to miss out on a meal, Daryl yanked his knife away from the dead frog to chase the other. Catching it proved an easy task and Daryl was soon skewering them onto a stick to roast over the fire like some kind of backwoods shish-kabob.

His meal finished and his belly a little fuller, Daryl wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked in the direction that he knew he had approached the creek from. Having something to eat seemed to have made his mind a bit sharper, making it easier to process his situation. The only thing waiting for him back home was his dad. Merle was gone and for who knew how long this time. Being lost in the woods was definitely not the most ideal place to be, but without Merle, Daryl would be left to handle their dad on his own. Dealing with him was not high on Daryl's list of favorite things, so the only other option was to find a different route.

The fact still remained that Daryl was lost, plain and simple. The last thing that he wanted to spend his time doing was walking himself in hapless circles.

A tall oak tree stood a few feet ahead of him. Squinting from the sunlight, Daryl looked to the top of the tree while he chewed on his thumb. It would be a good place to try to get his bearings. Maybe he could even spot a road or a building, some kind of landmark. It didn't look too hard to climb. A knot sticking out midway up the trunk looked to be the only obstacle that might trip him up. If a branch had been in its place it might've been easier to get up. Shouldn't be a problem, he thought. Daryl had climbed many a tree. They were a good place to escape for a while. That is until he had to come back down again.

A running start gave Daryl the momentum to jump up and reach the lowest hanging branch. Gripping it tight with both hands, he walked his feet up the trunk until he was hanging from the tree branch with all four of his limbs. Pulling himself up to a sitting position, he reached up and placed a hand on the knot he had noticed from the ground. The knot didn't stick out very far, but he was sure he could get a foot hold on it and push himself farther up into the tree. He stood up carefully, not wanting to lose his balance, and put his arms around the tree trunk a foot or so above the knot. With one foot on the knot, Daryl pushed off of with his other but lost his footing and slipped. Clawing at the tree trunk proved useless as he slid unceremoniously all the way down, scraping the inside of both arms along the way.

"Shit!" he hissed as he awkwardly stood up, taking in the raw red of his arms. "Damn tree!" Daryl kicked the tree as if to retaliate for the damage it had caused him.

So much for a bird's eye view of his location.

The only landmark that Daryl had come across so far was the creek. It had to lead somewhere, didn't it?

If he followed the creek, it might just lead him out of the woods or at least somewhere a little more abundant with supplies. Glancing at the remains of his fire and the underside of the creek bed that he had called home for the last few days, Daryl didn't feel too bad about leaving it. While the frogs and mushrooms had given him _some_ energy, he would have to relocate if this was going to be a long-lasting venture, this living in the woods stuff.

There would be several more hours of sunlight to light the way and since he was following the creek, there would still be plenty of fresh water. This plan was starting to sound better and better the more Daryl thought about it.

Daryl glared back in the direction he knew to be the way he had come from home and that seemed to settle it. Nothing back home, nothing in the creek bed to keep him there any longer.

With a determined huff, Daryl turned and began to walk alongside the creek as it meandered deeper into the woods.

* * *

The setting sun cast an orange glow across the leaves as it began to set. Daryl had walked beside the creek, noticing how its size kept shrinking until it had retreated back into the ground altogether. Without the constant sound of running water, Daryl had to admit that he really _felt_ lost now. The feeling of no direction had alluded him up until this point. As tough as he tried to be, he allowed himself to really feel like a kid now. While the sun set farther along, so went his chances of food and shelter for the night. What was more, his scathed arms hurt like hell and were sure to get infected if he didn't find some place with medicine.

It was no use to just stand around and pout, so he continued to walk. If he didn't find anything by the time it got dark, well…he'd get to that when he had to.

A sound up ahead, like crunching leaves, caught Daryl's attention. Could be nothing, could be as simple as just a deer, but Daryl didn't want to take any chances. He armed himself with his pocket knife and edged forward slowly, making sure to be as silent as possible.

The sounds seemed to be getting farther away instead of closer, but his curiosity was piqued. Daryl hid quietly behind a tree and then chanced a look around it, hoping to catch whatever had made the noise.

There was a small clearing there, but no creatures or enemies were to be seen. Several small bushes were clumped together in the clearing. All those hunting trips with Uncle Jess told him that they looked like elderberry bushes and Daryl's stomach growled at the prospect of having food.

Rushing forward, Daryl grabbed one small branch and began looking it over for any berries. However, out of the five bushes he checked over, not a single elderberry remained. Probably some deer's favorite spot to grab a bite.

"That's just great," he thought, hoping the deer who had made off with a full belly was satisfied.

Shaking his head at his bad luck, Daryl looked in the direction he guessed the deer had headed in. Might as well go that way. It wasn't like he had any other plans.

Keeping his pocket knife at the ready, Daryl crept on carefully through the trees, wary of whatever it was that had made the noise.

The surrounding trees were starting to appear black now as the sun was almost gone. Daryl felt a surge of panic go through him. This situation was starting to turn serious. It wasn't so much that he minding being out in the woods after dark, but his arms felt like they were on fire and it took all of his willpower not to scratch at them.

Up ahead, Daryl thought he could make out the outline of a building. Finally! He had no idea what it could be, but he pressed forward hoping it was somewhere he could hole up for the night. With one last step, Daryl exited the forest and was standing before an old wooden shed.

Daryl stiffened as if paralyzed as he realized that this was not just some random shed in the middle of nowhere. This was someone's property. He stepped to the right and didn't have to look very hard to notice the enormous white farmhouse behind the shed. Daryl hadn't ever seen a home large enough to fit several of his own inside it. He gaped up at it, unsure of what to do next. The owners were sure to have everything he needed, but a dirty injured boy stumbling out of the woods might not be the most welcome sight. In Daryl's experience, people weren't very nice, especially to him. He noticed the barn over his right shoulder and thought that it might make a good place to spend the night without being seen.

Daryl was just about to turn and walk towards the barn when one door of the shed creaked open. A woman with kind, but surprised pale green eyes and light brown braided hair stood in the doorway with a large white bowl full of elderberries. She seemed to falter for a moment at the sight of him before stepping out of the shed.

All Daryl could do was stare. How was he supposed to explain what he was doing? Before he could work out something to say, the woman approached him.

"Hi there," she said warmly with a small wave. "You startled me!" There was a slight giggle in her voice, as if seeing him there wasn't so unwelcome.

"S-sorry I…," Daryl's voice came out as a scratchy whisper and he hung his head in embarrassment. It had been hours since he had spoken aloud. Any minute now she would scream at him to get the hell off of her property, he just knew it.

"Honey, what happened to you?" The woman's voice took a concerned tone as she finally seemed to have taken in Daryl's appearance. She stuck the bowl in the crook of her arm and made to reach out for his scraped up arms.

Eyes wide, Daryl instantly took a step back to avoid her touch simply out of instinct. Concern was not something he was familiar with. Whenever someone reached out to him, the end result was always pain. Daryl thought he saw hurt flash behind the woman's eyes and somehow he didn't think her intention was to do anything but help.

She smiled warmly and said, "Looks like ya hurt yourself. I could look at it, if ya want."

Daryl glanced back at the woods and the thought of making a run for it briefly crossed his mind. That wouldn't exactly make sense, but interacting with people was just a tricky subject for Daryl. Running away from help wouldn't do him any good at all. He chanced a look back at the mysteriously kind woman and nodded, accepting her offer to inspect his wounds.

"Alright, let's go up to the house and we'll see about cleanin' ya up," she said with a motherly inflection in her voice as she turned towards the house.

Daryl would normally have turned tail and ran far, far away by now, but something he couldn't quite place made him feel drawn to this place and the kind woman who was leading him to all of the things he had been searching for just minutes ago.

When they reached the back door she held it open, looking him over.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He chewed his thumb, mumbled, "Daryl," and then braced himself as if he expected her to tell him it was a stupid name.

"Well, Daryl, my name's Josephine Greene, but _please_ just call me Jo. Nobody but my momma and daddy call me Josephine," again she had a giggle in her voice.

Holding his breath, Daryl walked cautiously into the farmhouse kitchen with Jo, hoping that for once in his life, things might be looking up.

**Thank you again to my beta Carrot Top. Reviews would be like a second Christmas!**


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